Page 34 of The Proposal

He grasps my hand once I’m done and kisses it as a sign of respect before standing.

When I was younger, I remember sitting back, watching my father and being in awe of his power. Now, I stand where he once did, and although I plan to do things differently, I’m confident I’ll make him proud.

I did a little work on Papa’s ring, adding a small blood red ruby in the centre to make it feel more like my own. In my eyes, it’s still his, but I wanted to personalise it. To me, it symbolises the rebirth I’m trying to bring to ourFamiglia. It will carry the same foundation my father built, but just like the ring, I’ll add my own touch to elevate the overall structure.

The other rings for my men are decorated according to rank. Each is less ostentatious than the last. I left Edoardo’s plain because that nagging feeling in my gut is rarely wrong, so for now, I’m going to listen to it very carefully.

“Arabella,” I call out once I’ve handed out all the rings and the oaths are complete.

A few minutes later, she appears in the doorway to theformal dining room, holding a silver tray laden with crystal glasses. I asked her to prepare them before everyone arrived. Like the dutiful wife she is, she must have been waiting for my call.

Arabella hands me mine first, and after she distributes the rest of the drinks to my men, I pour a small amount of alcohol onto the bloodied picture of Saint Michael that’s now lying in the centre of the bowl.

“Salute(Cheers)!” I say, raising my glass into the air.

“Salute!” everyone replies.

I downed my drink in one gulp, place the glass on the table, and reach for the box of matches. Once I’ve lit the match, I drop it onto Saint Michael. The alcohol I tipped onto the image ignites with a slightwhoosh, the flames licking the edges of the saint’s figure, casting a flickering glow. I’m so busy with the task at hand that I don’t notice my wife’s shift until the tray in her hand crashes to the ground with a heavy thud.

As the small fire grows, my gaze snaps to her. Only then do I notice her ghostly pale complexion and how the light from the flames seems to wash over her, highlighting the coldness in her skin.

“Bellezza,” I say, taking a step in her direction just as she extends her arm and pushes me aside.

My eyes follow her as she picks up a glass of water from the table and tips it into the bowl, extinguishing the flames with a hiss. The room falls silent as a string of smoke swirls in the air.

When my attention flickers up to her face, I see the tears clouding her eyes, and something shifts in the air. It’s an unspoken heaviness that seems to cross between us.

“Everybody out,” I bark.

My men don’t hesitate, clearing the room with the kind of quiet obedience I’ve come to expect.

I turn back to her, trying to steady my breath, but thetension in my chest tightens. “Why did you do that?” I ask, my tone remains low as I try not to show my frustration.

The question hangs in the air. Was it the burning of the saint, the fire, the ritual? Did I somehow cross one of her invisible lines?

“Tesoro(Sweetheart),” I murmur when the first tear falls, tracing a path down her cheek; I can’t stand seeing her like this. “Are you upset that I set an image of Saint Michael on fire?”

“I-I,” she stammers, her breath hitching as she struggles to find the words.

“Talk to me,” I press gently, stepping closer to cup her face, trying to bridge the distance between us without crowding her. Something in her voice and the torment in her eyes tells me there’s more going on here than I can see.

“The fire … it …”

“It what?”

“It brings back memories,” she says, her voice trembling as she presses her face into my chest.

“Memories?”

“Of … my mother. Of her burning alive,” she chokes out with a sob.

I rear back slightly, startled by her omission. “Your mother died in a fire?” I ask, my voice soft with disbelief.

“Yes!”

Chapter 10

Arabella

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